


Manifest

by Terminallydepraved



Series: Works for Others [60]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst and Feels, Assassination, Blood and Violence, Identity Reveal, Interrogation, M/M, Revenge, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: In the moments before a job, the heart beat a little faster, a little different.It was the adrenaline. Endorphins. Silas knew the chemistry of it, knew the science behind why his teeth ached behind his lips and his hands shook in their leather gloves. The body responded to stress in such interesting ways. It produced the chemicals that would make a person stronger so they could survive. To give them that added post they needed to stand a chance against the predators in the world that sought to tear them to pieces.Fight or flight. Prey’s best friend.The thought made him smile. His hands stopped shaking.Silas wasn’t the prey in this situation.
Relationships: Cyberlife Tower Connor| RK800-60/Jeffrey Fowler
Series: Works for Others [60]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/378145
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	Manifest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gildedfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/gifts).



> the final installment is here! this is the end of the fowler60 mafiaverse ive been writing for gildedfrost the past couple of months and wow, its a doozy. i hope you guys like it and are excited for whats coming next!

In the moments before a job, the heart beat a little faster, a little different **.**

It was the adrenaline. Endorphins. Silas knew the chemistry of it, knew the science behind why his teeth ached behind his lips and his hands shook in their leather gloves. The body responded to stress in such interesting ways. It produced the chemicals that would make a person stronger so they could survive. To give them that added post they needed to stand a chance against the predators in the world that sought to tear them to pieces.

Fight or flight. Prey’s best friend. 

The thought made him smile. His hands stopped shaking. 

Silas wasn’t the prey in this situation.

It hadn’t been hard to track down his targets after Jeffrey gave him the name of the person who stabbed him. Every family had their favorite operatives, the ones they trusted to get the job done and make them proud, and that meant it was almost criminally simple to trace a job back to its source.

Silas had been in this business for so long that the hunt came as second nature. A few bribes here, a few threats there; hired help was so easy to turn, and it took nothing more than a single phone call to get Giardy’s secretary to hand over the man’s appointment book. All it took was one little namedrop and the implication that he knew where her children went to daycare. God, Silas loved how easy people were to intimidate. You could play anyone like a fiddle when you wielded heartstrings like garrotes. 

And in the end, Silas had done just that. Everything had come together beautifully. The makeshift base of operations was a lone warehouse connected to a shoddy office building. The foyer to the latter was empty as Silas broke his way inside, shattering the glass door with a well-aimed blow from his crowbar. No alarms sounded as the glass covered the floor. The usual security presence was absent, paid off to spend their evening anywhere else but here. 

“That’s what you get for investing poorly,” Silas said under his breath as he carefully stepped over the threshold. Amanda had strict guidelines on who was trusted to do what, and if any of her soldiers so much as thought of selling them out, they’d find themselves hunted to the ends of the earth before the day was out. But, one man’s folly was Silas’s gain. He sauntered over to the lone elevator across the room and hit the glowing call button. 

At first blush, the entire atmosphere of the business-side of Giardy’s business would imply that business-hours were over for the day. The empty main floor, the lack of cars in the parking lot outside, the security lights that barely lit up the dark space— all of it gave off the impression that for all intents and purposes, no one of merit remained. The warehouse out back was no doubt lively with contraband and frantic, practiced hands bundling away parcels of drugs and weapons and who-even-knew-what, but here in the main office, the world was silent. 

The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding. Silas stepped inside and pressed the top floor button. He knew Giardy wasn’t in the habit of working late, but then again, he also knew that everyone had their exceptions. 

As the elevator carried him upwards, Silas reached into his pocket to feel the familiar piece of metal resting against his thigh. The metal was smooth, cool to the touch but warmed from its usual icy bite by the heat of his body. Each floor dinged by, one by one by one. Silas pulled out the knife and flicked it open just as the elevator chimed— Silas inhaled slowly and flicked the blade until it gleamed at his side. 

It had been a very long time since Silas last killed. It wasn’t really his strong suit, though he and his brothers had all been trained from an early age to be able to hold their own no matter what life threw their way. Assassination was left to Connor, flatout murder to Richard. Silas helped when he was needed, did what had to be done, but his talents weren’t quite so… quick. He got results, naturally, but he tended to leave his victims to tell the tale another day, just minus a few unnecessary extremities. 

So, given the long break Silas had and the general focus of his preferred work, it almost came as a surprise to him just how simple it was to exit the elevator and tear into the two guards leaning against the wall just down the hall. They were tired men, bulky but slow, and Silas found it a simple thing to take advantage of their exhaustion and cut them down before they could fumble their guns out of their holsters. 

_ Must be like riding a bicycle, _ he figured as he kicked one man’s knee and sent him to the floor.  _ Do it once and you’ll never forget it.  _

All in all, he finished the men in less than two minutes. 

Blood coated Silas’s hands already. He looked down at the mess and grimaced, stepping over a twitching body to press his ear against the door. There was a name plate embedded in the wall beside it.  _ Sebastian Giardy, President.  _ Silas furrowed his brow and listened hard for the sound of cocking guns, voices, even shouts. 

He heard nothing beyond the quiet sounds of a conversation that wasn’t worth listening to. 

Just Giardy then, he guessed. Giardy and his last meeting of the day, that shitlord Lawrence. 

Good. That was perfect. The two men Silas wanted dead most, all tucked up unawares in a room far from anyone who might hear. God, what an easy job it all was. Switching around some dates, pushing back a single meeting— Silas wrapped his hand around the doorknob and twisted, giddy on his own excellence. He was too good at this job, wasn’t he? It wasn’t fair for the rest of these fuckers. It wasn’t fair for them at all. 

The door opened and the conversation immediately stopped. Just as he’d hoped, the inner room was nearly empty. Just Lawrence and the big man himself all on their lonesome, too high in their tower to think someone could ever strike them down in their home turf. Giardy was seated behind his desk, suit rumpled, face haggard and worn from the long night he must have spent in the office. Lawrence was standing, turning, a cigar hanging from his loose lips that smoked gently with every breath he took. 

Silas locked eyes with Lawrence as time seemed to stand still. 

His lips curled into a smile; the cigar slipped out of Lawrences’s mouth and hit the floor. 

“What the absolute fuck are you doing here?!” Giardy shouted. 

Silas tightened his hand on his knife and didn’t bother to answer. He drew back his arm and sent the blade flying— He assumed that would be answer enough in a minute or so. 

The blade shot out, cutting through the air with a quiet hiss punctuated with a meaty  _ thunk.  _ Lawrence went down quick, joining his cigar on the floor. Silas fought the urge to sigh at that. What a bore. Then again, he probably shouldn’t even be surprised. Lawrence had never been the sort of guy who took a job that would involve him fighting, and it fucking showed in how shit his reflexes were in person. He got his way through sneaking around, striking when a person’s back was turned. There was no such thing as honor among thieves, but even Silas had his limits when it came to shooting fish in a barrel. 

He didn’t feel bad in the slightest for slitting Lawrence’s throat though; scum got what scum deserved, and if it had been Lawrence who put the money on the table and ordered the job done, he might have toyed with him a little longer, drawn it out the way he was used to seeing when he worked with one of his brothers. 

Hell, if Richard were here he’d probably call the take-down sloppy. There was an art to how his brother killed, all cold composure and careful allocation. No movement was wasted, no action taken without it being perfectly calculated for maximum impact. But bodies still hit the floor the same no matter how you shot them. Blood still stained carpet regardless of how prettily you threw a fist or shot a gun. 

Silas wiped away the flecks of blood stuck to his cheek and shot a charming smile Giardy’s way. No, he wasn’t the infamous Nines coming to carve out the information he was tasked to take. Poor, poor Giardy that he wasn’t; if he was, maybe this would go a little differently. 

But then again, maybe it wouldn’t. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Giardy screamed, throwing himself out of his chair so fast that the chair toppled over behind him. 

Silas shrugged his shoulders with lazy indulgence as he came a little closer. He stepped over the soon-to-be corpse in front of him, the sounds of blood filling a lung to capacity weakening with every passing moment. “That’s a good question,” Silas said quietly, letting his gaze fall to the knife in his hand as he took in the pretty red sheen on the silver blade. “It’d be a little cliche if I said revenge, right? That this is only personal because you made it personal? I swear, the movies ruin all the fun parts of my job.”

Giardy might have been a handsome man in optimal circumstances, but right now the fear and loathing made him anything but. His skin was ashen, coated in cold sweat. He screwed his face up in a sneer so ugly that it was hard to look at. “That bitch Amanda sent you here, didn’t she?” he snarled, the bitterness so thick that it coated Silas’s tongue from across the room. “Throwing her weight around, acting like she owns this fucking shithole of a city—”

Giardy’s eyes widened in shock. He dropped his jaw as he looked down at his chest. The handle of Silas’s blade stuck out of his torso, the blade buried to the tang. 

“I said this was personal, didn’t I?” Silas said quietly, his voice silken as he followed the path of his thrown knife to close the distance between them. Giardy tried to stumble back a step, to run away from him, but he was moving too slow for it to do him any good. Silas reached out and grabbed the handle of his knife, batting away the sweaty, shaking hand that tried to stop him. Silas gave the blade a harsh twist and waited patiently for the scream to fade before going on, “Leave Amanda’s name out of it. I won’t have you dying thinking she’s the one calling the shots here.”

Giardy bared his teeth, or maybe just clenched them in pain. He didn’t try too hard to fight Silas off in either case; in fact, he was almost downright obedient when Silas walked him back towards his toppled chair. Leaning down, Silas grabbed the back of it and set it upright. All it took was one good shove to force Giardy into sitting down again, and only then did Silas remove his knife from the man’s shoulder.

Silas squinted until the sound of Giardy’s pained howl faded into ragged silence. He tossed his blade a few times, testing the weight, enjoying the way Giardy watched him with panicked, sweaty despair. “You shouldn’t have sent that hitter after me,” Silas said quietly, marking with his eyes every single place he was going to cut him. “I don’t like it when people come for my head without having the manners to do it face-to-face.”

“You—”

Silas cut him off with another harsh stab, this time in the upper arm that came flying at him. “I don’t like it when people come after my family either,” he said louder, pitching his voice until it could be heard over the scream. Silas threw a punch, hitting him in the jaw. It stunned him, kept him docile even as blood coursed down Giardy’s front, staining his navy suit black. “You picked the wrong target this time.”

“I can pay you,” Giardy wheezed, lifting his other hand to cover his face. Silas yanked his knife out of his arm and the man positively collapsed in on himself, wrapping himself up as if it’d be enough to save him from more pain, more payback. “However much you want. It wasn’t personal. Let’s just be civil about this.”

Civil. 

“Don’t make me fucking laugh,” Silas grinned. He tossed his blade in his hand, the blood so warm over his fingers. “You made your fucking bed, Giardy. It’s time you lie in it for good.”

It didn’t take long, all things considered. Silas knew his job and he knew it well, and Giardy was too pathetic to draw things out any longer than necessary. A few more stabs, several quick cuts, and very soon Silas found that the sounds of wet, hacked at meat overpowered the weak, whimpering screams that slowly became fewer and far between. 

Silas closed his eyes and sucked in a lungful of air, savoring the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a drug. His hands were shaking at his sides, his heart skipping beats as it urged him to keep going, to dig a little deeper, to plunge the blade a few more times and really let go. Fuck, this was always the best part. The high, the bloodlust, the moments when the energy of it all drenched him to the bone and ached for him to just let it all out—

It was a siren song he’d never been good at resisting, and each time it sang in his ear he was reminded of why Amanda was always so adamant he worked with Connor or Richard on jobs like this. They were the cool ones, the level-headed ones. They bathed in blood but didn’t fall victim to the need for more. Giardy was already a heap of meat in his chair. Silas forced himself to look at the floor and breathe through his mouth until the taste of iron turned metallic instead of sweet. 

The adrenaline faded slowly, gradually, leaving Silas’s hands cold and wet, tacky as the blood began to dry. He raised his eyes and took in the carnage of the room, the blood spray along the wall and the mess of papers scattered along the floor. The desk didn’t fare much better. 

Silas’s eyes were drawn to the computer screen; it was the brightest thing in the room. The fucker died with his desktop still open. 

Huh. That was an added bonus, wasn’t it?

A cursory search of the top desk drawer revealed a flash drive. Silas smiled and plugged it in, transferring over the hard drive with just a few quick clicks of the mouse. There. That should be enough to get him back into Amanda’s good books after the shitshow New Year’s turned into. He pocketed the flash drive and delivered a harsh kick to Giardy’s chair. It tipped over and the corpse sitting in it hit the floor in a wet, limp lump. Disgusting, but fitting. 

“That’s what you get for coming after me like that,” he said with a smile. Of course, Giardy didn’t respond. He wouldn’t ever talk back again. Silas rested his free hand on his hip and took a look around the office, content with all he’d gotten done. It’d been such a productive night. 

It wasn’t until he reached the ground floor that he realized he hadn’t been quite as stealthy as he’d first assumed. Silas could hear the sirens whirl away in the distance. What was that? Had someone heard him? A scoff escaped him. Maybe someone driving by noticed the broken glass door— Silas made a mental note to let Amanda know in the morning. If worse came to worst, she’d throw her weight around and help get it brushed under the rug. 

Silas’s tightened his hand around the handle of his knife and let the thoughts fade. He flicked the blood from his blade. He closed it with an artful, practiced snap. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. 

Time for him to go enjoy his happily ever after.

\---

Jeffrey woke to the sound of his phone ringing right beneath his pillow. The body behind him immediately let out an annoyed groan. 

“What the hell is that?” Silas slurred, a groping, sluggish hand swatting around at the bedding like that would make the offensive noise stop. 

“Sorry. I think it’s work,” Jeffrey muttered, too used to this sort of random wakeup call to protest it. He dug his hand beneath his pillow and closed his fingers around the smooth case. The room was dark and the light of his screen threatened to blind him as he squinted at the caller ID. Anderson. Wonderful. 

Silas made a noise that sounded like a cross between a groan and a snore. Jeffrey took that as his cue to go. He thumbed over the answer button and pressed the phone to his ear, throwing back the covers to slip out of bed. “Give me a minute,” he said under his breath, wincing as his feet touched the cold hard wood that made up Silas’s bedroom floor. He stood, heard Hank’s impatient grunt echo in his ear, and turned to look down at Silas in the bed. 

Despite the rude awakening, Silas was already back to sleep. He lay on his stomach, blankets pooled around his naked waist, face buried in his mountain of pillows. The light was wane in the room, just a soft glow coming in from the windows across the way. The blinds were on a timer and would close before sunrise, but for now they let in just enough light from the moon and city to give Silas an ethereal glow, highlighting the dark smudge of hickeys on his shoulders. 

He’d wanted it rough tonight, calling him up around midnight to beg him to come over and spend the night. Silas had said he was lonely, missed him, wanted him so bad that it hurt. He’d sounded… happy. Desperately happy, and that had bled into Jeffrey when they kissed. 

Hank cleared his throat over the line. “Can I start talking now, Jeff?” he asked irritably. 

Jeffrey blinked, tearing his eyes away from Silas. “Sorry,” he muttered, drawing the blanket higher so it covered more of Silas. “Just trying to find my slippers.”

“Jesus Christ, how old are you?” 

Rolling his eyes, Jeffrey moved towards the door. “Not that much older than you, jackass.” He opened it silently and closed it just as quietly, slipping into the hall where he flicked on the light. His eyes smarted. He blinked his way through it. “Alright,” he said in a normal volume. “What’s going on?”

Hank’s sigh was a crackle of static in his ear. Jeffrey frowned. He entered the living room and turned on one of the lamps before sinking into an easy chair. “That bad?” he guessed, too hardened by the job to give in to the sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. This city was rough; it had its demons and it let them run wild more often than not. He tried not to guess what it was this time. It was always worse that way, a special kind of misery knowing that the horrors you come up with yourself are almost never as bad as what reality will provide on its own. 

There was a pause. Jeffrey’s heart ticked a little faster. 

“You sitting down?”

“Holy shit, Hank,” Jeffrey hissed, bringing his hand to his eyes to rub at them with mounting unease. “Just spit it out.”

“It’s…” Another long, haggard sigh. Jeffrey could just imagine Hank covering his face with both hands, yanking his fingers through his hair hard enough to make anyone watching wince. “There was some kind of hit run on one of the Giardy’s known base of operations. A real bloodbath.”

Jeffrey frowned. “Alright, what do you need me for?” Organized crime was usually worth a midnight wake-up call if it involved civilian losses, but the city saw so much these days that a run-of-the-mill shootout rarely warranted calling in the upper brass. At least, not in the middle of the night. “What’s the body count? Any innocents or just soldiers on the payroll?”

“No civilian casualties that we’ve seen yet,” Hank said, finally sounding relieved about something. “From what the first responders told us, it was some kind of internal beef. Someone… Someone really didn’t like Giardy, and they sure as shit didn’t like a few of the men on the schedule tonight. There’s mutilation out the ass. We had to identify a few of them from their wallet contents— their faces were that fucked up.”

“Jesus.” 

Hank let out a crackle of static as he sighed. “You’re telling me.”

“Do you need me to come in?” Jeffrey glanced at the sleek clock mounted to the far wall. It was nearly four in the morning. Budget cuts had left their nightshift crew understaffed and woefully green. 

A pause. “That’s not why I called.”

Something like irritation began to flare up as Jeffrey rubbed his tired eyes. “Alright? Can you get to the point then, Hank?”

“The point is,” Hank said sharply, “that we recognized the handiwork of the person responsible. CSI barely had to glance at the mess to know the poor fuckers had their shit wrecked by a sociopath with a knife.” 

Hank paused again, cleared his throat. “A pocket knife,” he clarified. “60 mm.”

Before the words really hit home, Hank kept going. Faster, he rambled, “The secretary was the one who called us. We took a look at her phone, tracked the number that called her. We’re thinking he operated alone this time because he was sloppy. Made the call from his own cell.”

“Wait, wait. Hold on. You think you got a name for Sixty?” Jeffrey breathed. His hand gripped the arm of the chair so tightly that his knuckles went white. “Why the hell didn’t you lead with that? We’ve been after him for years, Hank.”

Another pause. Jeffrey was getting royally sick of them. 

“I know, Jeff.” 

It was simple, short, curt. Perfunctory and not at all thrilled at the thought of landing a collar on one of the notorious triad. Why was that? Sixty might not be as notorious as Nines, the hitter in the family, but the bastard had a sadistic streak a mile wide and a knife he wasn’t afraid to use. Most people who met it didn’t come out human once he was finished with them. It was a huge break to have a name, to have  _ anything  _ on him. 

“What aren’t you telling me, Hank?” he asked, that kernel of unease slowly trickling back until his stomach felt like it was full of lead. “Just be straight with me.”

There was a sound that came across the line, one that sounded like Hank was closing a door behind him. Where was he? Back at the precinct, right? Jeffrey’s heart hammered harder, a sickly, horrible feeling rising up that made it hard to suffer the silence. But… why? Why did he feel so anxious? He tried to smile, to make fun of himself for it—there was nothing to be worried about. Hell, shouldn’t he be ecstatic? Landing one of the three brothers was monumental—but despite his best efforts he couldn’t quite seem to swallow the bile teasing the back of his tongue. 

“Hank,” he said after what felt like an hour—though in reality, it could only have been barely thirty seconds. “Just say it.”

“Fuck.” The word was harsh, pained. “Christ, Jeff. What do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” Jeffrey said, growing alarmed. His fingers slipped on the phone case, his hands too sweaty to hold a grip. “Who is it, Hank? Who the fuck is it?”

Hank’s voice echoed across the line. Jeffrey furrowed his brow and tried to suck in a breath of air. He couldn’t hear anything. Something had begun to ring, loud, shrill, piercing. But no, no, he could still hear Hank’s voice. Low, pity-soaked, panicked in a way separate from the icy fear pouring into Jeffrey’s veins. It wasn’t surprise that did any of it. Just… fear. Certainty. 

There was no plausible deniability with that name still echoing in his ears. 

“It’s Silas,” Hank repeated, voice muffled like he was covering his mouth with his hand. “There’s no doubt. The phone record was crystal clear. We found a print on Giardy’s wrist watch. It’s a match, Jeff. I’m sorry.”

The penthouse was silent but for the sound of Jeffrey’s labored breathing.

“Are you still with me?” Hank asked as gently as he knew how. 

He wasn’t. Not in any meaningful way, at least. Thousands of scenarios began to run pell-mell through Jeffrey’s mind, each worse than the one before it. Images of him calling out the tactical unit, of seeing Silas torn from bed, thrown into cuffs, locked up behind bars. Of him waking Silas and forcing him to come clean. Of them fleeing together— that one was the worst of the bunch. Silas was a killer. He’d killed  _ tonight.  _ How many men? How much blood was there on his hands? 

How fast could Silas run? Some small, petrified voice in the back of his head couldn’t help but ask. “If he gave him a head start… just how far could Silas get? Would it save him? Would it even matter?

“Jeff?” 

Jeffrey’s body stiffened. His breath caught in the back of his throat. He lifted his head and turned, the bottom falling out of his stomach at the sight of Silas wearing his shirt. He was leaning in the doorway, loose fist rubbing at his tired eyes. The long, lean line of him was… breathtaking in more ways than one. 

Suddenly, Jeffrey desperately felt like vomiting. Something had gotten into his system, something he needed to purge in anyway possible. 

Silas’s hand fell and his head rested against the wall. “Are you coming back to bed?” he asked softly, smiling so… so fucking gently. 

“You’re with him, aren’t you?” Hank sighed. The pity in his voice only added to the nausea. 

Jeffrey said nothing. He’d be damned no matter who he answered. 

“We have to bring him in, Jeff. You didn’t see what he did to Giardy. The man wasn’t human after he was finished with him.” 

Silas furrowed his brow, drew a little closer. The shirt he wore wasn’t all that long on him. Silas’s legs were long, long and pale. His hands were delicate, his wrists thin. Jeffrey tried to imagine them holding a blade, tried to look at him through his mind’s eye and see him covered in blood, cutting flesh,  _ enjoying it—  _

In some awful way, it made sense. The fractured pieces of the puzzle he’d never quite figured out snapped together with deafening clicks, one by one by one. The stabbing on his front porch. The muffled phone calls he pretended not to understand. The sheer insistence to drop things that were too important to just cast aside. The… conversation he had with Amanda at New Years. 

Silas’s reaction to it, and then learning the name of the man who stabbed him. 

Hank was still talking, voice rapid and heavy in his ear. 

“Where are you? Does he know that you know? I can send a car to you, Jeff. I can finish it for you. You just need to tell me where he is.”

Silas smelled like expensive cologne and Jeffrey’s aftershave. He slid into his lap like it was second nature, looping his arms around his neck to bury his face in the crook of Jeffrey’s neck. He tried not to enjoy it. He tried not to relax instinctively at the scent, the familiar weight, the comforting warmth. 

“He’s dangerous, Jeff,” Hank said, an echo of Jeffrey’s conscience that couldn’t seem to gain traction with Silas so sleep-heavy and close. “You know what you have to do.”

He didn’t. He absolutely didn’t, and he wasn’t sure what kind of person that made him.

“Jeff?” Hank barked, concern shortening his temper. “Are you with me still?”

“I…” 

Jeffrey looked at Silas curled against his chest. He thought about the phone call he’d woken up to before, the one calling him over, the frenzy Silas had been in. His heart ached in his chest. He swallowed. Hard. 

“I am,” he said quietly, closing his eyes tight. “I’ll call you back, Hank.”

“Wait, Jeff—”

Jeffrey hung up the phone. After a moment’s consideration, he turned it off too. An odd sense of calm washed over him as he stared at the black, dead screen. He knew what he had to do. As a man, as an officer, as the Captain of the DPD. 

As Jeffrey. As a lover. As the only dose of normality Silas had in his life. 

His voice was steady when he opened his mouth and called, “Sy.”

Silas lifted his head, blinking his bleary eyes. He looked comfortable, at ease. Warm and at home. Just Silas. 

“What’s wrong?” Silas chuckled, pressing a kiss to Jeffrey’s cheek even as Jeffrey dropped his hands and stopped holding him. Silas tilted his head. He frowned and murmured, “You’re as stiff as a board.”

But that was it, wasn’t it? They were never just Silas and Jeffrey. 

They had only been pretending. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, if you liked this feel free to leave a comment and let me know! check me out on twitter for more dbh funtimes @tdcloud_writes and if you wanna see what i write when im not doing fanfiction you can check me out on my website at tdcloudofficial.com. until next time!


End file.
